Battlestar Galactica 7 - War Of The Gods

by Glen A. Larson

He had proved his power and he had proved his good intentions. He wanted only to help them all and he had left the choice up to them. He had created miracles, caused their food to grow better than ever before, brought them Baltar, humbled before the council. What more could they possibly want? He even promised to show them the way to Earth. He could do all those things and more. Wasn't it right, then, that he should lead them? Was it so much to ask?

  Apollo climbed over the wreckage of a toppled bank of instruments. Everything inside the ship, or what was left of it, was on a massive scale.

  "It's all pretty well vaporized," he said, shaking his head with wonder. "God, whatever hit this thing must have had the power of a sun! I can't even begin to imagine what—"

  He froze.

  "Starbuck!"

  "What is it? What did you find?"

  "Come over here and give me a hand."

  Apollo started to put on some protective gauntlets. Starbuck came up beside him, glanced at him, then looked down at what Apollo had seen.

  Something was pinned beneath a giant piece of metal, part of the bulkhead which had collapsed. It was a body. The only visible part of the body was the lower leg, sticking out from underneath the wreckage.

  The leg ended in a cloven hoof.

  "What in hell is that?" said Starbuck.

  "Strange that you should say that," said Apollo. "I'm about to find out just what in hell it is. But unless my imagination is working overtime, I'm afraid that I already have a pretty good idea."

  He bent down and grasped the slab of metal, trying to lift it. It was too heavy. Starbuck slipped on a pair of gauntlets and joined him. Together, they strained and managed to lift the wreckage, tossing it aside.

  The body underneath was shattered and burned, but its form was recognizable. It was large, twice as large as a human. It had a head, two arms and two legs, but there any resemblance to human form ended. Its torso, although flattened by the piece of metal that had fallen upon it, was grotesquely large and misshapen. The chest cavity was huge. The fingers ended in talons and there were horns upon its head, sprouting from just above the eyes, which insects had eaten away. The body was in an advanced state of decomposition and the smell was overpowering. In spite of it, both men were rooted to the spot. The thing had hooves. And a long, prehensile tail.

  "Starbuck! Apollo! What are you doing?"

  Sheba stood just inside the shattered hull of the ship. She started to move toward them.

  "Sheba, stay back!" said Starbuck.

  "I won't stay back. What is it you've found?"

  Apollo grabbed her and started to push her back, trying to force her back outside. She struggled against him.

  "Let go of me!"

  "Sheba, believe me," said Apollo, "you don't want to go in there."

  "I want to see."

  "Apollo," Starbuck said softly, "maybe she should."

  Sheba stopped struggling.

  Apollo nodded, letting her go. "Maybe you're right."

  "I don't know what you're trying to prove here," Sheba said, "but I want you to know that nothing will change my mind about Count Iblis."

  "Go take a look," Apollo said.

  She looked at him defiantly. "All right. I will."

  She started to step forward.

  "No!"

  Through the rupture in the ship's hull, they could see Count Iblis standing on the crest of the hill, his robes billowing about him in the wind. He stretched forth his hands and energy crackled. He threw his hands up and lightning seemed to shoot down from the sky and bathe him in fire. There was a deafening clap of thunder.

  "I forbid it!"

  His voice sounded almost as loud as the thunder. Starbuck and Apollo both reached for their sidearms, resting their hands on the butts of their laser pistols.

  Iblis beckoned to Sheba.

  "Sheba, come away from there. Come to me," he said.

  Apollo glanced at Sheba. She was staring up at Count Iblis. Her eyes were wide and glazed. Her lips were trembling. There was a vacant look upon her face, a look Apollo had seen once before. It was the same look he had seen on Boomer's face during the triad game.

  Apollo reached out and grasped Sheba's arm. "Don't listen to him, Sheba. Don't look at him. Turn around and take a look at what Starbuck and I found. You said you wanted to see, didn't you? Well, look, Sheba! Go see for yourself! It's what you wanted!"

  "Don't be deceived, child," Iblis called down to her. "You are mine. Come be with me."

  Slowly, Sheba began to move forward. Apollo tried to hold her back, but she shook his arm off.

  "Sheba!" Starbuck shouted. "Sheba, turn around!"

  Apollo lunged for her.

  "Do not touch her!" Iblis said. "She is mine. She has given herself freely."

  Apollo grabbed her and spun her around. She looked right through him.

  "Sheba! Please, snap out of it! Hear me . . ."

  "Let go of her," Count Iblis said. "I command it!"

  Apollo swung on him furiously.

  "You command no one who doesn't willingly give you dominion. You have no power over me."

  "So you know who I am," Count Iblis said.

  "Yes. I finally know." Apollo turned to Sheba, shaking her. "Think, Sheba! Think back to the ancient records, the Book of Kobol—"

  "I can't," she said, cutting him off. "Apollo, you don't understand, you're wrong about him. Count Iblis—"

  "No, Sheba, not Count Iblis," said Apollo. "The name's Diabolis. The Prince of Darkness."

  "I warned you not to interfere," Count Iblis said. "I'll give you one last chance to step away or I will strike her down."

  Count Iblis raised his hand and at that moment Apollo pulled his laser pistol and fired at him. The energy beam lanced out at him and bathed him in a wash of light. His features seemed to change. For an instant, it wasn't Count Iblis who stood upon the crest, but another sort of creature entirely, one that did not look human. The creature laughed, unhurt.

  "You have brought her death, Apollo," it said. "And may her lost soul curse you throughout eternity!"

  The air crackled with electricity and lightning crashed down on the crest. Iblis reached up, seeming to draw power from the lightning. Apollo jumped in front of Sheba, throwing her to one side. In so doing, he caught the full force of the energy blast thrown by Count Iblis. He stiffened as the brilliant aura surrounded him, then sank slowly to the ground.

  Starbuck watched with shocked disbelief as his friend crumpled to the ground. It had all happened so fast that he hadn't even had a chance to move. The sight of Apollo sheathed in that deadly halo of energy stunned him momentarily. He could not believe that his friend was dead.

  "Apollo!" he screamed, rushing over to the spot where he had fallen. He bent down and lifted Apollo's head from the ground. Apollo was limp. There was no breath, no heartbeat.

  "He's dead," Starbuck said. He looked up at Count Iblis, Diabolis, the creature who had masqueraded as a human. "You killed him!"

  Starbuck aimed his laser pistol at Diabolis and fired again and again, barely giving the weapon an opportunity to recycle. Diabolis stood upon the crest of the ridge, laughing as the bolts of energy struck him repeatedly, without effect. Starbuck lowered his weapon, feeling an impotent, helpless rage. His best friend had been killed by a creature against whom he was powerless. It occurred to him that he would undoubtedly be next. He didn't care.

  Diabolis stretched forth his hand to Sheba, beckoning to her.

  "Come, Sheba," he said.

  She got up slowly from the ground, staring at Diabolis and seeing his true nature for the first time. As if in a trance, she moved toward Starbuck, kneeling by the fallen body of Apollo.

  "Sheba!"

  She stared up at Diabolis with loathing.

  "No," she said.

  "Sheba, you belong to me," said Diabolis. "You freely gave yourself to me. You want to come with me, you—"

  "No!" she shouted. "No, I could never follow you! Apollo! What have I done?"


  She began to cry hysterically. Starbuck stood up and took her in his arms, attempting to calm her. There was nothing more that he could do. The strongest weapon he possessed had no effect upon the creature who had called itself Count Iblis. His fate was no longer of concern to him. The creature had to kill them now. It didn't matter. There was nothing they could do, except one thing. They could show him that they were not afraid.

  "It wasn't your fault, Sheba," Starbuck told her. "You didn't do it. He did it, Diabolis, or whatever his name really is."

  He looked up at the creature standing on the ridge.

  "It's over, isn't it? Your power over us is finished. You can't force us to follow you. We had to be willing."

  "Yes, that is true," said Diabolis. "I cannot force your obedience. But I can destroy you."

  A strange, high-pitched whining sound filled the sky. Diabolis looked up, startled. Countless bolts of white hot light screamed across the sky above them. Diabolis turned pale. He stared up at the sky with fear.

  The strange white ships were back. They came down in formation, flying low over the ground, but so fast that it was impossible for Sheba and Starbuck to make out any details of their construction. Like laser beams, they shot by overhead with incredible speed.

  "What is it, Diabolis?" called Starbuck, over the keening wail of the ships passing overhead. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing is wrong!" Diabolis screamed back, furiously.

  "Then why do you look so worried? You're the one with all the power! Or did you overstep your bounds? Did you break some kind of rule, Diabolis?"

  "There are no rules! No one has dominion over me!"

  "I wonder," Sheba said. "In all the universe, are there not balances? Rules, even for an advanced race, a greater law?"

  The white lights swept back over them again. There seemed to be more of them than there were on their first pass.

  "I am not finished with you mortals," Diabolis said. "There will be another time and another place. We will meet again."

  He threw his arms out to his sides and the air around him crackled with energy, then the sky over the ridge became filled with light, a bright glowing light like that of a sun going nova. Starbuck and Sheba turned away, shielding their eyes against the blinding light. An explosion shook the air and ground around them, tumbling them to the earth. When they looked up, Diabolis was gone. The sky was clear and there was no sign of the mysterious white ships. Everything was still around them.

  Sheba scanned the ridge, searching for any sign of Diabolis. They were alone.

  "Starbuck," she said, "he just vanished! Everything is as it was when he first appeared."

  "No," Starbuck said softly, looking down at the inert form of Apollo. "One thing is different. Let's take him home."

  Together, they picked up Apollo and carried him back to the shuttle. They strapped his body down and lifted off, leaving the red planet behind them. They did not look back.

  FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS:

  There have been many times during my life when I have felt afraid. A man who never feels fear is either a fool or he is insane. I have known fear in times of combat, both when I was young and inexperienced in the ways of warfare and when I was a senior officer, my rank making me responsible for the lives of those warriors under my command. The latter is the greater fear by far, for it is an easy thing to lay one's own life upon the line. Even a man who is an abject coward can experience a moment when life and death no longer seem to matter. We all have our limits of endurance and when those limits are reached, we all react in different ways.

  Often, there is nothing "heroic" in a hero. I cannot count the times that I have seen warriors who hungered for glory throw their lives away in foolish actions they perceived as being heroic. Heroes are neither born nor made. Most often, they become heroes by accident.

  Such was the case with me. When I was a child, I had dreams of glory. Those dreams persisted through my adolescence and they stayed with me through my training at the academy. My people were at war with an enemy dedicated to the complete extermination of the human race. I hated the Cylons and it was easy for me to picture myself as a Viper fighter pilot, defending Caprica from the alien menace. I set myself a goal. I would be more than just a warrior, a Viper fighter pilot. I would be an avenger, killing more Cylons than any other warrior, winning recognition as a soldier who would take any risk to save his people. I would be a hero. A Viper ace. Foolish, foolish dreams. How quickly they evaporated the first time I saw combat.

  I still remember, vividly, my first launch into combat with the Cylons. I was ready. I was filled with a self-righteous rage. I could not wait to get my first Cylon fighter in my sights and blow the enemy to space dust. And, the first time that it happened, it was easy. It took no great skill on my part, merely luck. I fired my lasers and scored my first kill in my very first time out in combat. I felt exhilarated. I felt proud. I felt indestructible. And microns later, I felt the cold fist of fear squeezing my insides as I was caught in a Cylon pinwheel attack.

  In that one moment, all my dreams of glory faded. Only one thing mattered. Staying alive. In that one moment, the fact of my own mortality was brought home to me in the most direct way possible. I was hemmed in by the enemy and they were trying to kill me. I was not a hero then. I wept with fear. The other members of my squadron saved me from what seemed to me a certain death and from that time on, the war was not the same for me. I realized then, for the first time, that I was not a hero. I was no avenger. I only wanted to survive. It was only then that I finally understood what the war, and what life, was all about.

  Survival.

  I stopped taking chances, stopped gambling with my life. I had found out just how much it meant to me. I became the most cautious and conservative of pilots, not out of any sense of wisdom, but out of fear. It was quite simple. I knew I had to fight. And I did not want to die.

  It sounds absurd. Of course, no sane person wants to die. But life takes on a different aspect when every day is lived with just one goal in mind—avoiding death.

  For a long time, I thought myself a coward. I kept to myself, avoiding the company of the other pilots. They thought me aloof, but in fact, I did not feel that I was worthy of their friendship. I was afraid to die and it was our job to face death. I began to do everything "by the book." I avoided taking risks as much as possible. And every time my Viper hurtled down the launch tube, I prayed to God to let me live. I felt ashamed of what I was. And then something happened that was to change my life forever. It was, of course, an accident.

  It happened during the Battle of Sagittaria. Our forces were caught in a Cylon ambush and we were badly outnumbered. I was assigned to the Bronze squadron of the Battlestar Cerebrus. My wing mates were Lieutenant Cain, who was later to command the Pegasus, and Lieutenant Apollo. Yahrens later, when my son was born, I named him in honor of my friend.

  Lieutenant Apollo was little more than a boy. Seventeen yahrens old, he had graduated from the academy at the age of sixteen, the youngest cadet ever to win his commission. Apollo was a brilliant boy; he had breezed through the academy in a mere two yahrens. The youngest to be admitted and the youngest to graduate. Only Cain, who graduated at the head of his class, scored higher marks. Apollo graduated number two and I was number three. We became inseparable and it was only fitting that we be assigned to the same squadron in the Cerebrus, the ship we had requested.

  Everybody loved Apollo. His charm and ready wit won him friends everywhere he went. He was an incorruptible innocent whose lust for life infected everyone around him. He was the only one in whom I could confide, though he was younger than I. Not even Cain knew of my fear, my cowardice. Indeed, Cain would not have understood.

  Cain was, in very many ways, like Starbuck. Even then, we knew that Cain was destined for command, for heroism. Cain was what many people called a "war lover." It is a term used by those who simply cannot understand. Most often those who use it have never been in combat. It was not that Cain loved war
, loved killing, loved taking risks, rather it was that Cain really only lived when he was on the razor's edge. He was aware of the danger. He understood it well and thrived on it.

  Apollo, on the other hand, never seemed to understand it. The fantasy that left me when I first went into combat stayed with him. Apollo genuinely believed that he could not be hurt. He had a hopelessly naive, yet charming belief that since right was on his side, he would prevail. We would talk late into the night, he trying to help me see that my fear was what was ruling me and preventing me from having happiness, I trying to convince him that he would get himself killed taking foolhardy risks. Neither of us ever convinced the other.

  He saved my life during the Battle of Sagittaria. I became separated from the squadron and suddenly found myself with three Cylon fighters on my tail. I could not elude them. I knew that I would die. Apollo came from out of nowhere, having left the safety of the squadron formation to save my hide. He accounted for two of the fighters on my tail, but as I continued trying to elude the third, Apollo found himself caught in a devastating Cylon pinwheel attack. I could not break away to help him. The other pilots in the squadron were too busy trying to stay alive themselves. There was no one to save him, as he had saved me.

  I can still remember his last words to me as his voice came over my helmet comcircuit. I can still hear the surprise in his voice as he realized that he was mortal after all, despite the fact that right was on his side.

  "My God, I'm dead," he said. "Remember me, Adama."

  Then there was a blinding flash of light and Apollo was no more.

  Since that time, again and again I've wondered what came over me. At the time, I did not know. Looking back now, with the wisdom gained over the yahrens, I can understand what happened. It was an accident, the sort of accident that gives birth to heroes.

  Before Apollo came to my assistance, I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to die. I could not shake those Cylon fighters on my tail. I was using everything I knew to maintain evasive action, but I knew that it was only a matter of microns before one of the searing beams of light that kept flashing past my ship would score a direct hit and I would die, incinerated in a blazing fireball. I realized that it would happen quickly, too quickly for me to feel anything, probably too quickly for me to even realize that it had happened. I realized all that and my fear just went away. It simply didn't matter any more. A strange calm came over me and, with it, an acceptence of my fate.